


2:30 In the Morning

by Praise_The_Magic_Conch



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Multi, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 20:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17311307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Praise_The_Magic_Conch/pseuds/Praise_The_Magic_Conch
Summary: It was 2:30 am in a shitty motel, and Keith thought he was the only one up, a few days after they arrived on earth. Everyone seems to have their own way to cope with Allura's death. Lance's, it seems, has been not leaving his hotel room since the day they arrived. No one had seen him leave, and he wasn't present at any of the parades or parties thrown in honor of Voltron.Keith hears a crashing sound in the middle of the night, coming from Lance's, and he hesitantly decides to go check on him.





	2:30 In the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, Folks! this is a mini-fix-it type thing I'm doing, which will address a lot of the big character-type issues that the show failed to: such as CORAN AS A WHOLE lol. the relationships are only klance rn but there will be others! I will be sure to update soon :))

**_It was half-past two am, and Keith thought he was the only one up._ **

  
  


Keith focused on the movement of his hands, breathing in the musty air of stained hotel room carpet as his blade flew between his fingers, almost of its own accord. He glanced at the clock, the numbers glowing in the dim light. 

_ 2:30 am _

 

It seemed like everything was in shades of gray throughout the week like he was living in a faded photograph. After the team defeated Honerva, they came home to earth one paladin short, and now everyone was stuck in this limbo— not home, and not away; resting in a hotel before the return home. Everyone was thrown into a crowd of happiness, cheering people, parades, children eager to snag an autograph of one of the saviors of earth, paladins of Voltron. Although Allura’s death hit the team hard, they were able to put on happy faces for the crowds and endless applause that made their ears ring. Everyone was able to show a happy facade— except Lance. 

  
  


It seemed like the others each took Allura’s death in their own way, as people do. 

 

All he had seen Shiro do was comfort other people, which of course worried the hell out of him because he must be devastated inside.  _ Leave it to him _ to put the needs of everyone else before his own. 

 

As for Coran, he had taken Allura’s death pretty well,  _ it seemed _ , but things just didn’t add up, with how he was acting. He tried his best to maintain his cheerful, rather eccentric personality; and he was succeeding.  _ But it just didn’t make any sense.  _ He must be pushing it away too. 

 

Hunk was, as always, the glue that held everyone together, always chiming in with funny stories about how Allura taught him how to prepare food goo, or her constant comments on their ears. Anything to defuse a situation that could turn... depressing. Sometimes he made everyone cookies.  _ Scratch that, every time.  _ Hunk firmly believes that a good reminiscing on a full belly can be quite the medicine.

 

Pidge buried it all in her work, as usual. She’d been drawing up some designs for a robot that’s pretty complex, and he could tell it was something she gave most of her time to. Hunk made sure to give her a lot of his cookies. Everyone had a different way to cope. Work was hers. 

 

Keith sighed. Of course her death had hit Lance the hardest. In fact, he had barely been seen since they arrived at earth. Lance refused knocks at his hotel door, asking for alone time that he got, in excess. Now that he gave it some thought, Keith never saw Lance go out to get food— he never even picked up the gift basket the hotel left for them by each of their doors. 

 

He focused on the blade, still manipulating it in his palms so it spun, weaving around his fingers. As long as Keith kept focused on something, he could ignore his own feelings as well. 

 

Since Allura’s death, Keith was hit by a wave of emotions he didn’t understand. The loss of someone close to him wasn’t a new experience, but the time to feel grief was. Whenever he lost someone, he was forced to push aside the grief so he could focus on the tasks at hand, unaffected by any searing sadness in the pit of his stomach. Now, there were no wars left to fight, and his use had worn out. There was no reason to hold back any more— and yet, he couldn’t stop feeling like he had to push everything away. There must be something he could do, that would still make him useful to the team, to whatever they had planned next… but  _ was  _ there even a  _ team  _ any more? Did they  _ have  _ anything planned next  _ was there a “next” at all?  _

 

_ Thoughts like these sent him spiraling into unease.  _

 

He would have nowhere to go if they couldn’t stay together. Granted, he was  _ used  _ to having nowhere to go on earth, but he had always had somewhere to be, with the team. They had  _ become _ his favorite place to be. 

 

Keith shifted on the hotel bed, pausing to tuck sleek hair behind his ear. It seemed like he had to feel nothing for most of his life, anyway. The blade in his hands was hypnotic, spinning like a ceiling fan, whirring in the air.

It was almost as if-

 

-a muffled crashing sound broke the heavy silence that blanketed the hotel like night.

Keith jumped slightly, turning towards where the sound came from— the room next to his. 

 

“ _ Gah _ !” 

 

His head snapped back to find his palm bleeding from a decently sized cut, the knife on the sheets, stained with a bit of red. It stung. 

 

_ Huh. I’m. Bleeding.  _

 

_ Should’ve paid more attention, I guess.  _

 

Keith stared at his hand, pale and scarred, turning it around and examining the skin.  _ It didn’t feel much like it was… his hand. _

 

_ -another damn crashing sound _ , this time, louder. 

 

What could that be, at this hour? 

_ Wait.  _

_ That’s Lance’s hotel room.  _

_ Why is he up this late? _

A small chill ran down his spine, and his heart sped up in its beat. Quickly grabbing a Band-Aid and putting it on his hand in haste, he speed-walked out of his carpeted hotel room on the second floor, and found Lance’s room, next to his, the gift basket collecting dust outside. Keith closed his door behind him with a soft  _ click.  _ The dirty hallway rug was decorated with flowers that had long lost their luster amongst the echoey walls, and he stepped carefully, trying his best not to make a sound; because on the opposite side of the hallway were Hunk and Pidge’s rooms. Waking them up would be a huge mistake. Sure they might understand all this, that he was trying to find out if Lance was okay, but, people might talk. Either way, at face value, Keith did not like what this looked like. 

 

The crusted carpet was wiry and abrasive under his shoes, he was still in the clothes he wore at the parade: his—now iconic— time-yellowed crop jacket and faded black shirt. This was it. Keith stood squarely in front of Lance’s door, shifting his feet hesitatingly. His hand came up out of his pocket, raised to knock. Was he  _ really  _ going to do this? He gave the dim hallway one last look before tapping the door to Lance’s gently, already rolling his eyes at whatever embarrassment he was going to get himself into.  _ Consoling  _ Lance.  _ A dangerous affair. Surely lance was going to be an ass even when he was depressed. _

 

_ But, he reasoned; it would be even scarier if he wasn’t.  _

 

With that, Keith knocked on the door thrice, his palms cold and sweaty. 

_ I just hope he’s all right. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
